


Treatment Plan

by omgbubblesomg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Butt Plugs, Choking, Dean Winchester Whump, Enemas, F/M, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt No Comfort, Non-Consensual Hand Jobs, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-26 18:22:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19011325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omgbubblesomg/pseuds/omgbubblesomg
Summary: For the prompt: Dean takes a solo hunt while sick, even though he knows it's a bad idea. He finds that the person haunting the disused wing of an old hospital is the ghost of the evil abusive head nurse that used to work there decades ago, and had free rein in her treatment of the patients. Unfortunately, Dean being so sick allows her to easily overpower him. Before he can do anything, he's tied down and the nurse is examining him and declaring the best treatment - her favourite treatment - is an enema.





	Treatment Plan

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this for Kinktober 2017, just to give you an indication of how long it's been collecting dust in the vaults. Mind the tags!
> 
> I didn't know whether to tag this as M/F or other, so went with both and good luck to you.
> 
> Full prompt [here](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/123531.html?thread=43853195#t43853195)

“Don’t go in until I get there,” Sam says, voice coming tinny and distant over the phone.

“Yeah, yeah, mamma hen.”

“I’m serious, Dean. You’re not well. Wait for me.”

Dean wants to argue, but the truth is he _isn’t_ well. Not at all. He feels like shit warmed over. He feels like his head is stuffed with cotton wool, and yet somehow this is only a ‘minor’ flu. What an inconvenience. He stalks back to the car and tries to ignore how his head feels like it's about to roll right off his shoulders.

He settles down in the front seat with the binoculars, one of Sam’s shitty muesli bars, and two boxes of tissues. He can’t even bring himself to get a beer. That’s how awful he feels. Sam’s only a few hours away so he just has to keep an eye on the creepy old asylum until then.

So of course he falls asleep.

He can’t really be blamed. He’s drugged to high heaven on decongestants and throat soothers but that hasn’t stopped a local dare devil from scaling the fence and sneaking past him while he was snoring in the car.

Fuck.

He can see where the kid has entered, via the broken door in the south wing, and he curses again as he quickly makes his way over. Hopefully the kid will be just inside and he can yank them out before anything nasty happens.

It doesn’t go _quite_ the way he planned.

The kid’s just inside the door alright, looking pale and distracted like she’s just seen a ghost. Which she probably has. “Get oudda here,” Dean barks, stepping in to grab her collar and push her in the direction of the exit. No sooner is she outside than the door slams shut, trapping Dean alone in the damn building with nothing but the gun in the back of his waistband.

“I am nod in the mood for this shid,” he tells the empty room. Something tsks at him from down the hallway and he draws the gun, walking forward.

At least the ghost doesn’t try to creep up on him. It exits the last room, at the end of the hallway, and walks towards him, wearing a little nurse’s cap and the crisp white uniform that Dean’s seen in a hundred pornos. Except this one is stained red and there’s a hole in its chest where the heart used to be. Great. He’s never going to be able to watch _Naughty Nurses_ ever again.

“Hey sweetheart,” he says, except it comes out “Hey sweedhard,” with his nose blocked the way it is.

She tsks again, eyeing him over the top of her clipboard. Blood oozes down the front of her uniform and Dean levels the gun at her face. It’s only salt rounds but Nurse Joy can go to hell.

“You’re not well at all,” she tells him, in lieu of the usual ghost-greeting of screams and telekinesis. “You’ve arrived just in time.” He blinks in surprise, and it gives her enough of an opening to take one step forward and swing her hand out to connect with the side of his face. He’s already loopy from drugs and sleeplessness and just like that he’s dropping to the floor, gun spinning away as she gains the upper hand.

“Wha—?” he tries. But her fist comes slamming back towards him and he’s out cold.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When he wakes he’s on a hospital bed that looks so old and mouldy he’s fairly sure it’s cultivating its own life forms. As if his antibodies can sense the presence of further contamination, his nose has somehow become even more blocked and the pressure at the back of his eyes feels like someone’s squeezing air into his brain.

“Ugh.” He tries to sit up but there’s a wide leather strap across his chest and his hands are being held at his side with similar fastenings. As he looks down the length of his body he can see that he’s no longer wearing his clothes from earlier. He’s in a hospital gown that’s on the uncomfortable side of ‘short’, and the idea of some ghost taking his clothes off is so stomach-turning that he almost misses the final addition to his current set-up: his legs are bent at the knee and have been angled away from each other, with each foot restrained in stirrups to the side, leaving his lower half completely exposed.

_What kind of kinky ghost…_

He strains at the straps, alternatively trying to bring his knees down and then push his legs out, but he’s hardly got any wriggle room and everything holds fast, leaving him worn out and wheezing past the rattle in his throat.

“Are you quite done?” comes a crisp voice from behind him and the gory Nurse Joy steps around the musty bed, still holding her stupid clipboard.

“Depends,” he says, trying not to cough around the scratch in his throat. “You godda led me go yed?” He curses internally as all his t’s come out wrong, and hacks up a gob oh phlegm which he aims straight at her face. It passes through her with a staticky wave.

She scoffs. “You are extremely sick, and I don’t let my patients go until they are the picture of health.”

“Yeah and whad picture would tha’ be, sweedhard?” He eyes the hole in the middle of her chest, but his stare doesn’t make quite the impact he was hoping for when he sneezes unexpectedly.

She turns her nose up at him, as if he’s a particularly vile form of dog shit. “You may find my methods distasteful, but health is a destination that we must all struggle to achieve, and I will help you to achieve it.”

_Yeah and that doesn’t sound creepy as fuck._

She wheels a trolley over to the bed and starts erecting something that looks like an IV drip. He cranes as far forward as he can, trying to see what’s in the hanging bag. It seems clear, maybe a little cloudy. It doesn’t look harmful but the bag is almost full and if she’s about to put something in his veins he wants to know what.

Except it’s not his veins that she goes for. She brings the IV drip close on its rolling stand, and then positions herself between his spread legs.

“Hang on,” he says, but she’s not listening to him anymore. She’s got a wand about the length and thickness of a finger, and she unceremoniously jabs it between his legs. He immediately knows what she’s trying to do and he seizes up automatically. “No _thank you,_ ” he snaps, as she jabs it at him again.

“This will be much easier if you cooperate,” she tells him icily, and when he refuses to relax she grabs something off the trolley, slicking the wand with a disgustingly wet sound that just has him tensing further.

It doesn’t stop her. She pokes the wand at him again and this time when it presses against his asshole he feels it slip inside coldly, despite his best efforts to keep it out.

“Oh fuck,” he wheezes, and the thing slides in deep. It somehow feels bigger inside him and he bears down, trying to push it back out.

“Uh uh,” Nurse Joy admonishes, and she pulls something else off the trolley, attaching it to the base of the wand. With a jerk the thing inside him shifts, and it feels bigger. Another second later and it’s bigger again.

“S-sdop!” he demands, when he sees that she’s got a pump in her hand. She’s blowing the thing up inside him. “Whad the fuck, lady! Ged the fuck away from me!”

His head pounds, half from the flu and half from his overworked muscles as he desperately tries to free himself.

She doesn’t stop, clenching her hand around the pump rhythmically until Dean’s sure he’ll be able to see the thing inside him when he looks. It’s not the first time a girl’s put something in his ass but a sneaky finger during a blowjob is a far cry from what’s going on here. When he bears down again the thing doesn’t even budge. To check, Nurse Joy pokes at him experimentally, rotating the thing inside him until he groans. He feels impossibly stretched, and it would be just his luck if something was bleeding down there, too.

“You call this health?” he grits out.

She ignores him completely and stands to the side to fiddle with something at the end of the bed. Suddenly his head clunks down half a foot as the bed tilts, putting him on an angle that he just knows he’s going to hate. His eyes water automatically as all the pressure in his head shifts to press against what feels like his fucking _brain._ The new position has more of a strain across the chest strap, and he struggles anew, trying desperately to stop what he instinctively knows is going to happen next. Nurse Joy grabs the trailing end of the IV drip and attaches it to the thing that’s plugging up his ass. When she reaches for the base of the IV bag he gives one final, almighty jerk, but the bed frame holds sturdy and he’s unable to stop her from swivelling a toggle that sends a jet of liquid through the clear hose, down towards where his ass is angled slightly upward.

“You’ll be healthy in no time.” She pats his thigh once, then leaves him alone.

He’s heard about enemas before, and even seen one or two in porn, but there’s no way he was ever going to be prepared for the warm feeling at the base of his spine as the liquid pools into him. It’s not entirely unpleasant, and he relaxes slightly. He had expected it to burn him or hurt him somehow. But he finds he doesn’t particularly mind the warm sensation in his belly.

Half a minute later he retracts that statement as he gets an overwhelming desire to _push._ He tries to, but Nurse Joy’s plug isn’t going anywhere and even when he tenses every muscle, trying to _get it out,_ he can still see the flow of liquid heading into him. _Filling him up._

The bag is already half empty by the time the first cramp hits and he can’t help but groan with it, trying helplessly to expel everything inside him. Fuck, it hurts. Like a fist is clenching in his gut. Nurse Joy isn’t even in the room anymore and he momentarily wishes for her return, just so there’s someone he can yell at.

She doesn’t come back even when the bag is completely empty. It might be all in his head, but when Dean looks down (up) at his body, he’s pretty sure he can see a bulge in his belly where the liquid is sloshing painfully inside him, making him cramp every minute or so.

She leaves him like that for what feels like hours, though he knows it can’t be more than ten minutes. Eventually he stops trying to keep the loud complaints internal. He groans into the cold empty room and shouts as a particularly vicious cramp threatens to pull his bowels out through his skin.

It takes the full ten minutes for everything to settle inside him, and when she comes back he is beyond ready to get it the fuck out of his stomach. He doesn’t care how foul it’s going to be. _It needs to come out. Immediately._

She frees the IV drip without removing the plug, and pokes at his stomach. “Full?” she asks, as if she’s checking on the weather, not the fucking litre of liquid currently sloshing around his insides.

“ _Yes,_ ” he snaps, not caring that he’s backchatting a ghost. “Yes, I’m fucking _full._ I’m full and I’m fed up and you can ged this shid oudda me _righd fucking now,_ Nurse Ratched.”

“Manners,” she reprimands casually. She covers his mouth with her cloying, dead hand and Dean panics, unable to breath past his blocked nose. She releases him after only a second. “Not healthy yet,” she tells him, and she touches the IV bag, which refills immediately.

“Hang on,” Dean gasps, but she reattaches the hose to his plug and suddenly it’s starting again. Even more of it, pouring into him unstoppably. “Fuck! How is this supposed to fix the flu, you crazy bidch!”

This time she doesn’t leave him alone in the room. As the liquid jets into him she flips the bottom of his gown up, and he was right, he _can_ see the slight bulge in his stomach. It’s obscene. So unfamiliar on his body that he almost doesn’t believe it’s real. Except he can _feel_ it beneath the skin, ballooning him up. She puts her fingers against the top of the bulge and presses down, making him groan. When she eases back he swears violently. Which does absolutely nothing to stop her from doing it again, harder. The heel of her hand, this time, pressing into the slowly expanding mound. Fuck, it feels like he’s going to burst. Can that even happen?

“S-stop,” he whimpers.

“You need to be healthy,” she tells him, pressing harder. She puts her hand lower, to where his cock is soft and miserable between his thighs. She tugs at it gently, and rubs his belly as she does, so her hands almost meet with every upward stroke. He’s far too uncomfortable to get hard, but that doesn’t seem to deter her. She strokes his expanding stomach, alternating between a gentle massage and tapping fingers as though testing the tightness of his skin. This enema seems to be going slower and Dean hopes to heaven that his body will eventually get too full to stop anything else getting in.

The bag finally empties and the cramp that follows feels like getting kicked in the nuts. His whole body is rioting, telling him to get it out get it out _get it out._

Nurse Joy continues to touch him until the feel of her cold hand becomes almost pleasant in comparison to the cramps wringing him out. He begs for her to stop but she’s not even listening to him, seemingly intent on only his lower half. She’s watching his stomach as though she can see what’s going on in there and she doesn’t even acknowledge that he’s still completely soft.

She lets him slip out of her grasp and comes to the top of the bed. This time he knows what’s going to happen, and he takes a deep breath before she covers his mouth. He doesn’t let himself struggle, even when the urge to breath makes him dizzy. Except then she jabs mercilessly at the liquid bulge and he screams as it compresses. He struggles, then, so weak he probably looks like a fish, flopping uselessly against her hands and the leather straps. She lets him go when it’s obvious that he can’t breathe past his blocked nose.

“You’re not healthy yet,” she says calmly. “One more, and then your bowels will rupture.”

 _Oh god,_ he thinks. _Is that even possible?_ He can’t direct enough oxygen to say anything more than, “Don’t,” and he needn’t have bothered, because with a touch of her finger the IV bag fills again and this cannot be how he dies.

“One more,” she says again, smiling at him like he’s her new toy, “and then you’ll never be sick again.” She presses against his stomach, gentle now, and Dean can hardly see past the pain. “If you want, I can press down, and make it faster.” She looks at him like that’s a legitimate question and he can’t get the muscles of his face to work. His entire being is focused on the way the lower half of his body is about to drop straight off. He can only pant in shallow breaths, every inhale feeling like unwanted extra pressure on his insides.

The bag is half gone and he can feel how it’s going to happen. How he’s going to rip apart internally. What a way to die.

Nurse Joy looks up sharply at the sound of feet from outside. “Another patient,” she croons, and floats through the closed door, leaving Dean alone again. Almost immediately, a huge bang echoes from outside, and he jerks automatically, screaming in agony as he does. Jesus God it’s too much. It’s too much. The bag is almost empty and he’s going to die.

“Dean!” The door slams open and there’s Sam. Dean can only gasp at him. He’s fully on show. His soft cock on display and the round bulge of his stomach making him look like some pregnant woman. He can’t even bring himself to care. Can’t muster enough of a breath to beg for it to stop. Sam sprints forward, ripping the IV away, and Dean hopes he knows what’s about to happen because he’s not going to be able to wait for Sam to get clear. He shuts his eyes and begs for it to end. Please god Sammy get it out.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going away for a while palerinos, but please don't let that deter you from showering this little whumplet in comments and kudos so I can return to nice things :D
> 
> Recommendations! Do you like Dean getting enema-tortured for funsies? Perhaps you'll enjoy [The Tortures Of Hell](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10800780/chapters/23961861) by TapBluesNLindyhopDancer. Or maybe you like a little Sammy in the mix? How about another favourite: [ Try And Succeed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/929308) by aspenspark


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